A Kind of Merry War
by Nagia
Summary: With Yuffie, call no matter settled until it is arranged to her satisfaction, and call no deed, no matter how far-fetched, impossible.


* * *

**A Kind Of Merry War  
**

* * *

i.

"Hey, Zombotard, it's your season! You should come to Tifa's for All Hallows," Yuffie says to his answering machine, her voice bright and cheerful as if she's not insulting him from three thousand miles away.

The rest of her message is lost in a garbled sequence of beeps and pleasantly neutral female intonations as he attempts to delete the message. His thumb strikes a wrong key, first saving the message, then transferring it to a secondary voice mailbox, then almost forwarding it to someone else. After two minutes of struggling with the touch-tone system (and how a touch-tone system works with cellular phones, which are technically not touch-tone, Vincent does not know), he finally gets the message to delete itself.

"One new message(s)," the phone company spokeswoman tells him when he's done. "Press or say 'one' to listen to your message(s)."

"Hiya, Vince!"

Typical Yuffie. Vincent does not crack his skull against his dining room table or groan at Yuffie's insistence.

As soon as he deletes her newest message, the semi-automated voice informs him, "Four new message(s). Zero old message(s). Press or say 'one' to listen to your new message(s). Press or say 'two' to listen to your old message(s). Para escuchar este mensaje en Solano, toca o dice 'nueve.'"

Vincent closes his eyes.

* * *

ii.

Two days later, the sound of metal creaking and squealing awakens him before dawn. He doesn't bother to check the time on his phone, and there are no clocks, analog or digital, in the Shinra manor.

It's instinct to pick up the Death Penalty and shrug into his cape, the work of instants.

He stops short on his porch.

Nibelheim is a one-truck town. What's more, that truck is rusted over so thoroughly that it must have stayed in one spot nigh on twenty years, though less than thirty, because he never saw the truck when he first lived in Nibelheim. There is no way the truck is remotely drivable, and any attempt to tow or push it should have ended in bumpers, headlights, and wheel-rims falling off.

So why is that truck lodged in the last living tree in Shinra manor's front yard?

Vincent's gaze swivels from the dangling undead truck to the neatly closed and locked front gates. Just in case he should have any doubts about who could do the impossible, somebody spray painted an abstract pattern in green on the truck's hood.

The color is as much a signature as any name or set of initials could ever be.

Vincent almost puts his head in his hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. Almost.

* * *

iii.

He really needs to tighten his security, he decides as he stares at the kitchen covered in green post-it notes. They're even on the ceiling, and how Yuffie managed is almost mind-boggling, considering her height. It's not quite as impressive as her ability to relocate Nibelheim's only truck, but it's certainly a good visual message.

Most of the notes are blank, just there to overwhelm the senses. The ones plastered to the windows above the kitchen sink--taped down in transparent electrical tape, he notes absently--read: _IT'S UR SEASON! COME TO T'S PARTY!!_

It's too early to decipher Yuffie's handwriting or to nitpick the drop of two very important letters from the word "your," but it's not too early to pick up the complete absence of coffee scent--and complete absence of anything but hot water in the carafe--from his coffee maker even five minutes after he pressed the coffee maker's big green button.

Vincent pulls the coffee maker open and sighs at the sight of a mess of paper where his grounds should be. It's not green, though. After a few moments of waiting and the light, careful touch that comes naturally to any TURK who spent enough time in the Department, he manages to unravel the paper without completely breaking it.

_[][]RGO []ANI[]EST_

_[]AT[]RI[]L []BJECT[]S W[]R[]H [][][],00[] GIL OR [][]R[]_

He casts the page aside and flips to the next one. More barely-legible, dissolved ink words. It takes him several attempts to find a legible page, until he finds a sheet wrapped in electrical tape.

_[PASSENGERS]  
(1) XXXXXXXXXX, XXXXXXXXX  
(2) XXXXXX, XXXXX  
(3) XXXXXX, XXXXXXXXXX  
(4) XXXXXXXXXXX, XXXXXXXXX  
(5) XXXXXXXXXXXX, XXXXXXXXXXX  
(6) VALENTINE, VINCENT ("ZOMBOTARD")_

* * *

iv.

"You have _one_ new message(s). To listen to your new message(s), press or say 'one'. To listen to your old messages, press or say (two). Para escuchar este mensaje en Solano, toca o dice 'nueve.'"

_Beep_.

"Vincent. Yuffie says she didn't do it. Tifa says she's throwing an All Hallows reunion. You should come."

_[PAUSE]_

". . .Don't ask me to get in the middle of this again."

"End of message. To repeat message, press or say 'three.' To delete message, press or say 'seven.' Para escuchar esta mensaje en Solanol, toca o dice 'nueve.'"

* * *

v.

A new copy of the cargo manifest--and a passage chit--appears on his dining room table overnight, next to a grocery bag containing a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and a hairbrush.

He discovers that his entire master bath has been covered in tacky All Hallows posters of monsters, including a vampire drinking what appears to be a bloodtini with an eyeball for an olive. In order to slow down his prompt shredding of the posters, Yuffie has wrapped the walls, mirror, sink, and shower curtain in bubble wrap, then electrical tape.

Underneath the posters, on the mirror, Yuffie has written: _2 DAYS V_.

Vincent sighs, heads back into his room, and throws a small amount of clothing into a small bag. He can have a cleaning service take care of the bathroom while he's away, if there's such a thing as a cleaning service in Nibelheim.

* * *

vi.

All Hallows Night isn't as terrible as he was expecting it to be. Tifa touches him lightly on the shoulder to welcome him to her home, and Marlene flings herself at him for a hug, but that's not unusual for Marlene.

The poodle skirt twists and moves as she scoots backward and heads for her mummer's bag. Vincent watches the child go, as always slightly startled by the display of affection.

Yuffie, leaning against a wall, turns to look at him. Her face is covered in a red liquid that looked almost like blood, and what he can see of her tanned, toned stomach through the ripped black shirt appears to have intestines hanging--

Vincent looks up, meets her eyes.

She gives him a cheerful grin. "We're taking Marls and Denzel mumming in a few minutes. You joining us?"

There are scratches and handprints all over her bare arms, he realizes as she reaches out to toussle Marlene's hair.

* * *

vii.

Because All Hallows falls on a Saturday this year, it's several hours before Marlene and Denzel are both in bed. The AVALANCHE members who could make it--including Cid and Shera, and even Reeve and Barret, although Barret arrived after Marlene was already asleep--gather in the kitchen.

How exactly two hours pass without his notice, without dragging, he's not sure. But minutes blur by quick like a river, punctuated by Barret's guffaw, hints of a smile on Cloud's lips, Cid's rasping, deep-throated laugh and Reeve's deep, cultured chuckle.

The merry glint in Yuffie's eyes.

"It wasn't so hard, really," she says, illustrating with her hands, "just took three bottles of superglue to make sure nothing fell off the truck, an airscooter, and some rope."

"That was Mr. Liam's truck," Tifa says. Her gaze rises to meet Cloud's, just for an instant, and there's a beat of silence.

Yuffie freezes, goes stiller than a chocobo listening to the call of a Chocobo Lure.

"It was for a good cause," Cloud says, that hint of a smile growing just a little larger, and Yuffie relaxes. The table breathes.

Two hours later, Yuffie grabs Vincent by the claw's wrist-joint and drags him outside. They watch the flickering light of pumpkin-lanterns, the distant firefly glitter of glowsticks and winking city lights.

"Aren't you glad I tried so hard to get you out of that damn house?"

Vincent looks over at her. None of the special effects make-up has worn off. It's still like looking at a dead woman, still faintly disconcerting.

"…It wasn't so bad," he says after a long, long pause.

Yuffie grins up at him, then tangles one hand in his hair and pulls him toward her. Her lips brush his, very briefly, warm and soft.

"Happy All Hallows, Vince," she breathes against his mouth.

And then she's gone, back into the house with a wink and a moaned, "Braaaaaaaaaains… musssssst… eat… braaaaaaaaaaains…!"

AVALANCHE's laughter rings out from the kitchen.


End file.
